


Lessons in Culpability and Anatomy

by prairiecrow



Series: Lessons in Humanity [16]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: A.I. Perspective on the Human Condition, A.I. to Human, Established Relationship, Guilt, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve barely suppressed a shudder of disgust. The bitter snort of laughter escaped. "So you're telling me that I'm an animal who can't control myself?"</p><p>"I'm telling you that you're an animal," Jarvis corrected, "and that perhaps you shouldn't berate yourself for behaving accordingly."</p><p>(Takes place five days after the events of "Lessons in Vulnerability and Chaos".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Culpability and Anatomy

The first thing Steve felt when he emerged from Tony's bedroom in Stark Tower at 1:54 a.m. to see Jarvis sitting on the loveseat facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, quietly watching the autumn rain, was relief: he had never forgotten the story Tony had told him a few months back, about the former A.I. once being gripped by depression so crushing that he'd nearly taken his own life. The second emotion Steve experienced was surprise, when he saw what was in the hand curled in Jarvis's lap: _How did he make himself a cup of tea one-handed?_ But of course this was _Jarvis_ , who was as great a genius at figuring out how to make things work as Tony Stark himself, and if anybody would overcome the handicap of having one arm in a sling when it came to mundane kitchen tasks… well, there you go. 

Tony seemed to take Jarvis's brilliance for granted — understandable, maybe, since he'd been responsible for building the original JARVIS before some inexplicable trick of Fate had turned his unparalleled A.I. into a human being. Steve had never taken it for granted, and still didn't. In fact he always approached Jarvis with a certain degree of caution, superman though he was, regardless of the number of times he'd pinned Jarvis beneath him (or against a wall, or tied his hands) and spanked him and fucked him mercilessly, because there was something about the smaller male that Steve's deepest instincts warned him warranted respect. It wasn't just that devastating degree of intelligence — Tony possessed equal to it, or better — and it wasn't just Jarvis's aura of cool detachment from the world around him, as if he were a chessmaster overseeing a particularly complex game: no, his reserved demeanour suggested some deeper quality that Steve found quite alien, something he'd never encountered before in anyone else, and he'd met his fair share of different types of people. 

Flesh and blood, yes, but Steve couldn't quite buy that he was human. Not entirely. There was a feyness in every line of his slim body, elegantly clad in indigo flannel pajamas and a robe in spite of the bulk of the sling supporting his left forearm, and a clarity to his gaze turned in Steve's direction as Steve came around the side of the loveseat in his pajama bottoms, a piercing intensity in those pale blue eyes that always seemed as if they could penetrate innumerable layers of lead and granite to reach the most deeply concealed truth. 

"Captain Rogers," he acknowledged, and it was in his voice too, an accent which was superficially British but didn't come from any point on the planet Steve could recognize. 

"Jarvis," he responded — softly, because he'd left Tony sprawled snoring across their bed, one arm draped over the place where Jarvis should have been — and nodded at the cup. "Can't sleep?" 

Jarvis didn't nod in return. He simply turned his gaze back toward the nighttime tapestry of New York City, blurred by the layers of intervening rain. "It is perhaps more accurate to say that I choose not to do so at this time." 

Which brought a frown to Steve's face. His own gaze darted to Jarvis's arm, then to his left thigh, likewise bandaged under his pajamas. "Are you in pain? Can I get you a —?" 

"No." He drank a sip of tea, then seemed to reconsider his bluntness and added: "Thank you. I am currently experiencing only a mild degree of physical discomfort. It is… both anticipated and acceptable." 

Steve's scowl deepened as he sat down on the other half of the loveseat, extending his right arm across the back of it behind Jarvis's shoulders in an unspoken statement: _You belong to us, and we'll protect you._ "Did you have another nightmare? It's okay, you know — heck, it's only to be expected after what happened to you. But you have to tell us if —" 

This time Jarvis shook his head, once. "No, Captain, no nightmares. Not tonight." And then he hesitated, a visible perturbation crossing his smooth features just before he turned his face toward Steve again, pale eyebrows contracting in a rare frown. "I must confess, however, that I find myself… somewhat puzzled." 

Steve blinked. "Puzzled? How?" 

Jarvis scanned him once — down to his bare feet, then up to his face again, as if re-evaluating the openness of his posture. "May I ask you something?" 

Steve nodded at once. "Sure. Anything." 

"Three somethings, to be precise." 

Which made Steve's lips quirk. Jarvis was _always_ precise. It was one of the most charming (and occasionally crazy-making) things about him. "Fire away." 

"You killed the mercenary who was preparing to shoot me." 

Steve nodded fractionally but said nothing. What could he add, in response to a simple statement of fact? 

"What was his name? Sir has refused to tell me." 

That query wasn't a surprise either: Jarvis had been originally designed as a learning system, and when he perceived a lack of data he inevitably set about tracking it down, even if the process of recovering from being shot twice had slowed him up a bit. For a couple of seconds Steve debated going against Tony's obvious wishes, but this conversation was between himself and Jarvis, after all. "Johan Paulo Ernez. He was Spanish by birth, but he'd been travelling the world as a soldier of fortune all his adult life." 

Jarvis considered that for a moment, studying Steve's face with pale eyes. "You didn't have to kill him, did you? Breaking his arm would have sufficed, but instead you broke his neck." 

Now that was a much harder question to stomach. Steve tried to keep meeting Jarvis's curious eyes, but after a heartbeat he found himself having to drop his gaze. A tangle of words rose into his throat and choked him, because yes, he'd been anticipating this query too — Jarvis was quite possibly the most observant person he'd ever known, one who understood the physics of trajectory and impact from long first-hand experience — but in spite of considering it himself for the past five days, he still had no good answer. Just thinking about it opened up a snake-pit in his belly, but — well, he'd said "anything", hadn't he? Even if it reminded him that in spite of his lifelong dedication to fighting bullies and protecting the helpless, he was at bottom no better than a bully himself. 

"I didn't have to kill him," he agreed at last, and oh, it felt like a church confession, words of shame whispered into the ears of an attentive priest. "You're right — I could have broken his arm, or his leg, or hit him in the ribs hard enough to knock him flying. But if he'd had another gun, he could have gone for it with his other hand: they train that way, sometimes. He might have shot you anyway, if I hadn't taken him right down." 

"So in order to eliminate that risk to me, you killed him." 

Steve nodded, still looking at the floor. "I…" It would have been easy to say _Yes, and that's all there is to it_. It would also have been a lie, and Steve had bent his own moral code far enough for one year. "Not entirely." Now he could raise his head and look Jarvis in the eyes again in spite of the self-loathing writhing in his belly, because this was the truth: "I did it because he was threatening _you_ — you, in particular. When I saw you on the floor with his gun against your head, I didn't think — I didn't plan — I just acted. It wasn't Captain America who threw that shield: it was… something I don't let out very often. Something that would have killed all of them, if it meant keeping you alive."

Those eyes gazed into him — clear, wide, unblinking, full of a vital energy he couldn't quite comprehend. "And you're ashamed of that?" 

He had to look away again. "It's not who I am." With an effort of will he met Jarvis's gaze again. "I'm not proud of it, let's just say that." 

Jarvis inclined his head, a gesture that Steve now knew meant he was keenly interested. "I'm afraid I have one additional question." He waited for Steve's nod before continuing: "Is it the same aspect of yourself that is capable of sexual sadism?" 

"Maybe." He shrugged and looked down at Jarvis's arm in its sling, at the half-full cup of milky tea held in the curve of his hand. How often had he, himself, laid bruises into that white skin? How often had he bitten it, struck it, made the strange spirit within it cry out helplessly? More times than he could count, after so many months of sharing Tony's bed — and sharing the creature Tony called his own true love. "I don't know." 

"Some deeply primitive part of yourself, perhaps." Jarvis's voice was calm, measured, devoid of judgement or of blame. "Did you know that the human brain is physically structured in layers, with the most primal structures at the most fundamental level? Those are the structures human beings share in common with every other vertebrate animal on the planet: the hardware that contains the software concerning territoriality, emotional lability, and sexuality. I think that many members of the human species do their level best to try to forget that those impulses exist — but in the end, survival would be impossible without them." He was tracing the rim of the cup with his right forefinger, a delicately back-and-forth motion precisely repeated that Steve found slightly hypnotic. "You've told me that you consider me your property. Is it really such a surprise that in an intensely emotional moment, you would act in accordance with your most profound instincts rather than in accordance with what you _think_ you should be?" 

Steve barely suppressed a shudder of disgust. The bitter snort of laughter escaped. "So you're telling me that I'm an animal who can't control myself?" 

"I'm telling you that you're an animal," Jarvis corrected, "and that perhaps you shouldn't berate yourself for behaving accordingly." 

He sat with that for a few seconds, coming to terms with the kernel of truth in it. "It's different for you, isn't it?" he said at last. "Tony once said that when you were… well, what you used to be… emotions were something you'd heard about, but didn't have for yourself. And that one of the hardest parts of becoming human for you was learning to deal with those primitive parts of the human brain and what they made you feel." He shifted his gaze from Jarvis's hand to his own, lightly clenched between his slightly parted thighs: strong fingers, capable of creating art, of caressing — and more than capable of killing. "Maybe that's part of what it means to be human: struggling with the animal inside you all your life." He closed his eyes to let disappointment and shame wash over him, choking his voice to a harsh whisper: "I was taught that to be a good human being, you have to be bigger and better than the beast. But me… I'm not. Not always. And that's…" 

"Steve." The weight of Jarvis's slender hand laid lightly atop his own brought him back to the present, and he looked up to find the blond regarding him with a slight but genuine smile. "Thank you for saving my life. I would have willingly died to preserve Tony's secrets, but I would not have done so entirely gladly. This existence, with him — and with you — is…" The smile widened, becoming radiant. "I find it sweet, despite the inherent trials of being human. I know you're troubled by what you did, and for that I am truly sorry. But for what it's worth, had it not been for the beast within you I would surely have perished, and for that mercy, you have earned my undying gratitude." 

Steve looked at him in wonder, blinking back a tingle of tears. "You're — not afraid of me?" 

Jarvis shook his head again, still smiling. "Rest assured that I have never feared you. I know who you are — and that at heart you are a man of tremendous kindness and compassion. Those are part of your animal nature too. May I advise you not to forget that?" 

Steve's heart swelled white-hot in his breast, pressing the ache of tears back into his eyes. He shifted his right arm down around Jarvis's shoulders, wrapping him up and pulling him in close, then kissed the smooth cool forehead in the darkness and breathed against it: "Losing you would have killed him. I wasn't going to — I _couldn't_ let that happen." 

Jarvis snuggled against Steve's side without hesitation, resting his chin on Steve's shoulder, and murmured: "I know you couldn't, even if acting on his behalf went against your most deeply ingrained intellectual principles. I know that you consider him your fellow pack member, and would do anything necessary to protect him. That's why, out of all the people he could have chosen to be close to, I trust you more than any." 

He took Jarvis's weight gladly, turning his left hand to interlace their fingers in his lap. He whispered against the fine golden hair: "That pack includes you, Jarvis — it's the three of us, together. And I did it for you as much as I did it for him." 

Jarvis made a low inarticulate sound, gently pleased, and asked nothing more. They sat in front of the cold window, listening to the rain in warm companionable silence, until Jarvis's breathing fell into the slow cadence of sleep… and still Steve held him, until his keener-than-normal hearing detected stirrings from the bedroom, followed by the muted pad of Tony's bare feet entering the living area and the billionaire's voice, both rough-textured and tender: "Hey, there's my boys… is he okay?" 

Steve pressed another kiss to Jarvis's forehead before smiling at the naked, sleep-rumpled brunet. "Just fine," he said softly, and he was referring to so much more than the alien man who slept with perfect trust in his embrace. 

THE END


End file.
